Economic Incentives
by No.13
Summary: When Freddie knocks on Bel's door after witnessing a bombing, she knows they have a story. However nobody realizes what kind of story it will turn out to be.


**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**AN: **This fic is set in an AU timeline: The case surrounding "Brightstones" has been closed (or at least is not relevant here), Bel is producer, in an affair with Hector, and Freddie has not left the country. As my knowledge of the fifties is limited, I will focus on a plot I made up and character interaction … which made me love the Hour in first place.

**Warnings: **A bit of blood in this chapter, probably more in the future. And being not a native speaker, watch out for odd phrasings and odder metaphors.

* * *

_Economic Incentives_

Bel hasn't been asleep for very long when her doorbell abruptly wakes her up.

She sits up with a groan – it's dark outside, she hears rain splattering down and she really doesn't want to leave her bed, but the bell rings again and again.

"A second," she calls out, dislodging Hector's arm with a grunt. He blinks, before turning over.

Bel grabs a house coat, though the search for her slippers is in vain. There's a knock at her door – whoever it is seems quite urgent.

She runs a hand through her hair. "Who's there?" she calls out – all she sees through the white glass is a silhouette. And while it appears faintly familiar (either Freddie or her mother, nobody else would come knocking at this time anyway), she isn't about to open her door for a stranger in the middle of the night.

"Bel, can you open up?" asks Freddie. His voice sounds strained, and Bel feels like groaning.

"Now's not a good time," she replies, thinking of Hector who has probably gone back to sleep in her bed. Freddie knows, but a part of her would rather not have him here at the same time. Probably because their squabbling would keep her up for the pitiful reminder of the night.

"Please," says Freddie, and hits that pitch she can't really say no to.

With a heavy sigh she unlocks the door. "Really, I don't know why I'm doing this when I should actually fire you. Where were you today? We had to…"

She trails off. Freddie has stumbled in, rather than walked. He's soaked head to toe, and there's blood on his collar.

"Sit down before you fall over," she orders and pulls up a kitchen chair.

It only adds to the unease spreading through her chest when there is no witty comeback, and Freddie merely sinks into the chair, running a shaking hand through his soaked hair. After that there's blood on his fingers, too.

"Shit," thinks Bel, she doesn't know how to deal with this.

"Sorry," mutters Freddie, "I…"

"Ssh," says Bel. Then she turns. "Hector! We need your help over here."

There's a thump from the other room, and Bel conjectures Hector has heard her. She turns back to Freddie, who's slumped over, rubbing at his eyes.

"You need to get out of these clothes," she says, "Come on, help me out."

Freddie manages to lift his arms so that she can pull the rain-soaked coat off of him. It almost sends him to the ground, but he manages to balance himself on the chair. Bel bites her lip – the last time she'd seen Freddie this pale was when he'd been a hair's breadth away from pneumonia.

His reactions are fairly sluggish too. She's about to toss the coat aside when he mumbles something about the inside pocket.

Bel checks and discovers a photo camera – Liz had insisted on getting him one, stating that pictures provided proof where words were insufficient. She had thought Freddie had tossed it into a corner to rot, but apparently she had been mistaken.

"Bel, what's going on?" asks Hector as he shuffles into the room. He looks almost ridiculous in his striped pajamas, but he wakes up when he recognizes Freddie's hunched over form.

"Draw a bath," Bel orders. There isn't a piece of dry fabric on Freddie; instead the shirt is ripped on the left side, revealing skin littered with abrasions.

"Wait," she calls before Hector can leave, "Do you have any experience in treating injuries?"

He was in the army – he really should have, thinks Bel. Then again she wouldn't be surprised if he didn't; but Hector silently steps up next to her.

Freddie is listing sideways, barely managing to focus. "Hector?" he mutters, but the other man is busy tracing the trail of blood running down the side of Freddie's face. Eventually he reaches out and very, very carefully brushes aside Freddie's hair to reveal a sluggishly bleeding cut.

Bel's stomach twists a little.

Then Hector flashes her a tepid smile. "It's not a bad wound. Clean it up and he'll be like new."

Bel nods, and rises momentarily. When she's in the bathroom retrieving the first-aid kit she remembers to draw a bath. Because Freddie's lips are turning a nice shade of blue when she returns.

"What were you doing?" asks Hector, but there's no coherent answer.

Bel and Hector exchange a glance as she hands over the kit. Answers will probably have to wait until tomorrow. Or rather, later today – it's 3.30 in the morning as a glance at the clock reveals. Bel has to be at the studio at eight, and while Hector could sleep in, he needs time to memorize the scripts.

In short, it's going to be another lovely day tomorrow.

Eventually they get Freddie warmed up, and while Bel is worried since he isn't really conscious anymore, she is also drop-dead tired and Hector is reassuring her that it's not that bad. Probably, Hector hazards, Freddie was hit by a car – his left side is littered with bruises after all – and maybe it was just an accident.

Though by now even Hector is familiar enough with Freddie to wonder whose toes he stepped on this time. Bel is torn between exasperation, a sense of excitement and profound concern when she finally dozes off on her lumpy couch. Hector is asleep on the rug next to it – they unilaterally decided to let Freddie have the bed.

* * *

The next morning dawns wet, grey and cold, and the heater is struggling to be effective. Bel feels even less inclined to leave her covers, but at one point Hectors threatens to throw out the entire clock over her beeping alarm.

Regrettably, she depends on it (and it is a present from Liz, so she'd rather not see it destroyed prematurely), so she rolls over, shuts it off and leaves the couch. Her back aches, and if her foot connects with Hector's back it's completely accidental.

She ponders waking Freddie while she puts a kettle on the stove. Then she decides that she ought to at least make certain he did not expire during the night.

Freddie is either a very light sleeper or subconsciously quite nervous, because he awakes as she opens the door.

"Bel?" he asks with an odd expression on his face, "What are you doing…"

"No, James, not your flat," she returns.

Freddie adopts that puppy-like look of confusion (the one that makes Bel want to forgive him every- and anything. At least Freddie hasn't caught up on this yet), while sitting up. His hand goes to his head – the white of a small plaster peaks through his dark hair.

Bel waits patiently, as Freddie is sorting through his memories. "Oh," he says eventually.

"Indeed," says Bel flatly, "I was hoping for a more detailed explanation, though."

"Was Hector there too?" asks Freddie instead.

"Still is. He slept on the living room carpet," says Bel.

"The red one that sheds worse than any cat?" asks Freddie, refusing to feel guilty.

Bel has to admit she forgot to warn Hector about this. However she can't help the twitching of her lips. "That one."

"I knew there was deeper meaning to us finding it at that sale," says Freddie. Bel smiles openly – the carpet had been the only thing she could afford then. It had been – still is – hideous in color, though quite soft to the touch. At least back then Freddie had assured her that carpets like that did help building personality. And that it was a step up from bare floorboards anyway.

"Do you have any food in this flat?" comes a voice from the kitchen.

Apparently Hector is up, too.

Bel and Freddie exchange an amused glance. Then Bel gets up. "Only what's in the pantry and the fridge."

When she opens the door, Hector is looking into the pantry. "There's nothing in here," he says. Which is an understatement, really, because there are two glasses of bottled jam (presents from Marnie), an old loaf of bread and several empty packages.

Hector turns with an exasperated frown. "And there're two tomatoes, an apple and a bottle of whisky in the fridge."

"A present from Liz," says Bel, "You know I usually grab a bite on the way."

"Yes," mutters Hector. Then he spies Freddie. "Ah, Freddie, how are you this fine morning?"

"Fantastic" deadpans Freddie.

"Anyway, about that," says Bel, "What did happen last night?"

Freddie straightens up. "It's going to be all over the news today or tomorrow," he says, "There was an explosion at a pub near Oxford Street. A bomb."

"Who would blow up a pub?" asks Hector, while Bel leans forward, "And what were you doing there?"

Hector stops at that, "You got caught in the blast?"

Freddie shrugs. "I was following somebody. I only saw them go in, and minutes later the entire building went up in flames."

"Why were you following them?" asks Bel. She knows there's a story, and she wishes Freddie would actually share the details, but as expected she receives another shrug in response.

"Story," says Freddie, "I'll tell you more the moment I understand it."

Bel feels like burying her head in her hands. Freddie has that unique talent of finding exactly those stories that get people killed. As the producer of a news show this makes her ecstatic. As a friend she despairs.

Hector tilts his head. "It does sound interesting," he says, "But maybe lying low would be a good idea? If those people are willing to blow up pubs, I don't think they'll be willing to come in for a live interview."

"Yes, we really need to get going," says Bel and casts a glance at her wristwatch. It's ten past seven. The commute to the studio takes thirty minutes on a good day – and good days don't start by waking up on the couch.

Hector nods, mumbles something about getting dressed, leaves, and Freddie makes to get up as well.

Bel casts him a glare. "You stay put. I don't want to see you at the studio before noon. Or better, just stay away."

"Charming as always, Moneypenny," says Freddie, but he doesn't protest.

She takes it as acquiescence. Only when she is in the car with Hector, half-way to the studio, Freddie's camera in her back with strict instructions to get the film developed, she realizes that she never told Freddie to stay down and relax.

_tbc_


End file.
